


Aftershock

by Dead_walking



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alaric deserved better, Downworlders leaning on each other, M/M, Magnus and Luke do too, Magnus centered, Magnus is very loved, Two friends comforting each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_walking/pseuds/Dead_walking
Summary: In the wake of a victory, two leaders of the Downworld mourn what was lost.





	Aftershock

**Author's Note:**

> Having never read the books, I'm taking some liberties with Magnus and Raphael's relationship, mainly how long they've known one another.

"To victory,” Luke says, half-heartedly. He’s slumped against a cushioned booth in the Jade Wolf, shoulders curling in on themselves the only indication that he’s still recovering from Valentine’s wound. Magnus healed the worst of it after the battle, feeling muscles repair themselves in the hum of blue emitting from his fingertips, before he was told to stop. Luke wasn't ready for the wound to heal, not completely, and even though Magnus wanted to keep going, he understood some pains were too deep to be reached by magic.

Aged whiskey coats Magnus’ tongue before burning the back of his throat, but he breathes through it like the best of them. Six shots have been divided between the pair, and by the way Luke reaches for the bottle, they won’t be stopping any time soon. “If only it felt like one,” Magnus murmurs in the aftermath of the burn.

And shouldn’t it feel like one? With Valentine imprisoned, shouldn’t everyone be breathing a little bit easier knowing the champion of their destruction has finally been locked away, likely suffering unimaginable pains at the hands of the Clave? Instead they're counting their dead and picking which side is more to blame.

With fingers pointed in all directions, Magnus should be delegating, re-directing pent up tension towards finding the Soul Sword and the person who took it, but he allows himself this moment of selfishness. Wedges himself into this pocket of silence while the others take the lead; he’s fine here, chasing away the rotten taste of a victory in his mouth one tip of his head at a time, until he doesn’t have to think about accusatory glares and ignored correspondences. For this brief moment, Magnus can lean forward until his chest is angled against the table and give his full attention to the look of grief pooling in the depths of Luke’s eyes.

"Alaric was a good man," Magnus says, wishing he had more time to learn that first hand. “I can’t imagine this being an easy loss for your pack, or you.”

Luke nods, "Alaric was one of the best.” He drags his palms from the bridge on his nose to his ears, as if he can pull the pain away with the swipe of his hands. “Can’t say we always saw eye to eye, but I could always count on him to have my back. Hell if that night didn’t prove it. Alaric backed my play even though he didn't trust it and he paid for it with his life." A confession, bleak and crisp like the sound of glass hitting the table. “Christ, half my pack is dead over a plan they didn’t trust. My word against their instincts and they’re gone. How am I supposed to live with that?"

"You examined the evidence and made a call,” Magnus assures, but feels the weightlessness of his words in the growing shadow of everything they’ve lost. "For what it's worth, I would have made the same one. And if you're interested in keeping score, I'm the one who brought Clary to the Institute." Rings slide against one another as his fingers twitch for the bottle but he’s unwilling to set the pace. "Without her there, Valentine wouldn't have been able to trick Jace into using the sword."

Without Clary there, Simon would have died. One casualty versus hundreds and Magnus still can’t say he could have left him there, abandoned.

"We played right into his hands. And the worst part, the thing that hurts more than this,” Luke says, indicating to his abdomen with the tilt of his head, “is that I let it happen. He was my parabatai, Magnus, I should have smelled the trap on him the second he was in range instead of leading everyone into it."

Maybe unconsciously, Luke’s hand drops into his lap, closer to where skin is starting to fuse together into a calloused scar that will forever remind him of how far they’ve fallen. “He always had a way of hiding his goals from the people that flocked around him, and here we are again, scratching our damn heads wondering how it happened.”

“This isn’t on you, my friend. We’re all guilty of letting our fears blind us to what was happening.”

“You're a wise man, Magnus, but something tells me Meliorn won’t see it that way.”

And isn’t that another pressure pushing against Magnus' already frayed nerves. "Speaking of our fine general, how are things with the Seelies? All of my fire messages seem to have been pointedly ignored.”

“Doesn’t that say it all? From what I’m able to gather, things with the Seelies are tense, and that's best case scenario.” It’s enough of an answer to return some of the weight dulled by alcohol. "Meliorn made it clear where they stood and he made it equally clear where we would stand if things went south."

Magnus feels the pull of muscle as he roles his neck, a smooth circle from left to right, but it doesn't bring any comfort. What he would do to be home with Alec, the feeling of long fingers digging deep into his muscles until everything melted in the warmth of those hands and Magnus could forget about everything that’s building up around them.

Instead, he settles himself with a drawn out sigh. "And now their people are dead while Valentine lives."

"Valentine, along with the rest of the Shadowhunters. You should have heard Maia, she was so sure Jace lied to us, that he tricked us into getting our people inside the Institute, and who can blame her? Who can blame any of them for thinking the same thing? And trust me, she won’t be the only one."

"Oh, I very much doubt she’ll be in the minority,” Magnus agrees, redirecting his attention to the bottle sitting between them, amber liquid dull in the dimming light of the restaurant. For a moment, he feels betrayed that all the answers he needs aren’t reflected back at him.

Lost in his stare, he almost misses the subtle shift inside himself as betrayal turns into something real and uncomfortable, his own distrust stirring between his ribcage, a chaotic flutter that was dimmed by his growing affection for the Lightwoods, Jace, and Clary. But there it is, alive and all too aware that while his friends may mourn for the Downworld, the Clave will certainly call this a victory, no matter how many Downworlders were lost, and doesn't that say it all.

Luke grabs his tumbler, circling the bottom against the table. “I'm almost hesitant to ask where Raphael and the clan stand.”

Something twists low in his belly at the name, tugging at his intestines until his throat is wet with unease. "Now that we’ve given it a few days to let the dust settle, I suppose we’re due for a conversation.”

As if four days could somehow take away the coil of anxiety that wriggles in his stomach like the snakes he snapped into existence with the very same hands Raphael ordered to be bound, tethered as if he would have used them against him. Somewhere in the space of seconds compared to the centuries they've known each other, Raphael found reason to distrust him at a time when all of their survival depended on cooperation. Magnus wants to pick at the moment with expertly painted fingernails until he has a clear understanding of what happened but he’s stopped every time he hears the accusation reverberating in his eardrums –

_So you could use your magic against us?_

Surely Raphael knows Magnus would never harm him, but he was so, so close to killing Clary- of course Magnus had to stop him, just like he stopped Alec when accusations turned into balled knuckles and split lips. Yet, he can’t stop the sinking sensation in his gut when he thinks about the fact that Clary is alive and many members of the clan are not.

And there it is again, the familiar feeling of coils wrapping themselves around Magnus’ legs, arms, torso until he's being pulled in several different directions all at once. Every time he breathes, thinks, moves, he feels the coils constricting, one notch after another until they threaten to cut him open.

For a long time, Magnus thought the burden was his alone to shoulder, but now he looks across the table, and sees the same conflict in the shake of Luke's hand. “You know how this goes,” Luke says, equal parts exhaustion and frustration staring back at Magnus. “He'll say we gambled their lives for Clary and Alec. My pack, Maia, they're all thinking it."

“Did we?” Honesty, sharp like the dagger that cut through Luke’s skin. Because as much as Magnus wanted to help Simon, he can’t deny the need to get Alec out of the institute, even if that meant agreeing to bring Clary into the proximity of the sword. But he never meant to put other lives on the line. All at once, he feels every year on his existence deep in the groves of his bones, a creak wearier than the trees that have felt air not yet touched by man.

As if picking up on his fatigue, Luke’s shoulder drop as his body slides further into the seat. “I couldn’t let them hurt Clary, not after losing Joclyn, but I wouldn't have moved against Valentine unless I thought we could take him down. Killing Clary wouldn’t have brought them any closer to destroying the real threat.”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Magus agrees. “But for people who’ve had their lives controlled by Shadowhunters, it probably feels like we took away one of the few choices they had to make.”

Another pour straight to the brim. “So how do we come back from this?" Luke doesn’t say he doesn’t know if they can come back from this, but he doesn’t need to, they both know the score. “Raphael's trust, my packs trust, it wasn't unconditional, and unless we get things sorted, things are only going to get worse.”

Magnus hums in his throat. Another alliance fracturing before it could find proper footing. For a second there, it felt like they were moving forward, bridging century wide gaps even he wasn't particularly keen on bridging until he fell in with the Nephilim, and now, well, now Magnus is suddenly very, very tired.

Sitting across from Luke, eyes becoming heavier with every pour, he thinks it’s getting late, he thinks it's near time to go home, but he gives in to his urge and reaches for the whiskey because Luke lost someone – again- Luke steadied himself and went after Valentine, his parabati – again- because Luke wanted it to be over, because he was trying to do the right thing and look at what it cost him. Briefly, Magnus wonders, how much more they’ll have to sacrifice before this is all over. He wonders if it will be worth it.

The flash of guilt isn’t unexpected. All things considered, Magnus got off relatively easily. There were a few hours of gut clenching terror because Alec was stuck inside the Institute with a mad man, because Alec would do anything so long as it meant keeping everyone safe, and in those ominous hours, Magnus swore he would trade everything so long as Alec made it out. And here he is, able to wrap himself around Alec and feel the solidness of his partner, pull Alec close until he loses himself in the warmth of his boyfriend because Alec is alive; Alec got out, breathed the miracle of life against Magnus’ cheek before saying I love you like it was torn out of him with need.

Now Magnus clings to the warmth of it, pulls it in like the last rays of sunshine on a winter's day, because as wonderful as this feeling is, to know that he's loved after giving up on ever feeling this again, he knows how fragile it is, and he's petrified that he may be on the cusp of losing it to the chaos heading towards them.

"You have to talk to Alec,” Luke says. “Valentine may have been a Shadowhunter, but the Downworld suffered too much to not get a say in how to handle him. It's the only way to attempt to come back from this."

Magnus huffs out a laugh. "Ah yes, I'm picturing it now, Clave officials clamoring over each other to be the first to send out formal invitations for a summit on how to best handle Valentine. A meeting to end tensions and present a unified front in the face of our adversary.”

“I'm not saying it will be easy."

"Let's go with impossible."

"If Alec's the acting head of the Institute it's worth a shot. It may be the only shot we've got."

"We'll do what we can," Magnus said, wondering if it's too soon for another shot. "Let's just hope it's enough."

Magnus has lived for centuries; witnessed the destruction and creations of empires, watched as riverbed dried and mountain ranges formed, but he can't stop the feeling of something heavy pressing in on him, on them. Something dark and growing and the only thing he can do is try to brace himself, and his own, against it. But for the first time, in a very long time, he's not sure he can protect those he loves from what's coming, and it terrifies him.

**Author's Note:**

> Potentially the beginning of a series following Valentine's capture and the mess that's to follow. Tell me what ya think and make my day.


End file.
